


The Spider And The Fly

by em2mb



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gift Fic, Peggysous Exchange, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 11:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6655747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/em2mb/pseuds/em2mb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What can I say?” Daniel says. “I’m a sucker for red lipstick and strong women.”</p>
<p>Dottie slaps him so hard it echoes. Daniel checks his teeth with his tongue, just to be sure. “I’ve killed men for less,” she hisses.</p>
<p>“But you’re not going kill me,” Daniel points out. “Not while I’m still useful.” While he’s pushing his luck, he figures he might as well ask, “So what’s the plan?”</p>
<p>“Why would I tell you?”</p>
<p>He detects a sour note in her voice. “Thought I was doing you a favor.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spider And The Fly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keysburg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keysburg/gifts).



> Prompt: Dottie needs a favor and Daniel's the man for the job - doesn't mean Peggy likes it (will take almost any Dottie/Daniel interaction TBH).

_“Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly,_  
_“’Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;_  
_The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,_  
_And I've a many curious things to show when you are there.”_

_“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “to ask me is in vain,_  
_For who goes up your winding stair_  
_-can ne’er come down again.”_

_From “The Spider and the Fly,” by Mary Howitt, 1829_

_*_

_Creak._

The loose board is four floors down, but Dottie says “Peggy!” so brightly Daniel lifts his head to check she’s not already in the room with them. Dottie grabs him roughly by the chin, drawing his face up. “Told you she’d come.”

That’s the problem: Daniel never doubted it. Only he’s spent hours now tied to this chair hoping Peggy wouldn’t. “It won’t work,” he tells Dottie stubbornly.

“But Chief Sousa,” says Dottie, lips forming into a pout as she traces his bruised jaw, “it already has.”

And she’s gone.

Daniel’s heart begins to beat very fast as he listens for Peggy. But other than the one graceless footfall, she doesn’t make another sound until she’s throwing open the door.

“Oh, thank God,” Peggy breathes, tucking her gun in her waistband. She doesn’t let Daniel get a word out before she’s pressing a kiss to his mouth.

“Peggy,” he mutters, “it’s a trap.”

“Yes, Daniel, I’d worked that much out,” she replies teasingly. “Dottie’s no doubt lurking around a corner, so let’s cut you free posthaste. Now, do you think you can walk?”

Daniel’s shaking his head, though not in response to her question. “Listen to me, Peg,” he begs, “you have to go. It’s not just - ”

“And what, leave you behind?” Peggy says, utterly scandalized. “No, Daniel, I most certainly will not.” He glimpses the blade of her pocket knife. “Any injuries I should be aware of?”

Dottie had dislocated his shoulder, but there isn’t time to explain. “Peggy, unless you have the building surrounded - ”

“Mr. Jarvis is waiting with the car.” Peggy sighs. He can feel the rope binding his hands start to slacken. “Daniel, why didn’t you tell me the SSR - ”

He knocks the knife away with a clatter. _“Go,”_ Daniel says firmly. “Before - ”

The door opens with a bang. “Peggy!” Dottie chirps, training Daniel’s gun on the other woman. “I knew you’d come.”

In a flash, Peggy’s withdrawn her Walther PPK. “Lower your weapon, Dottie,” she commands. “It was foolish to think you could be brought in alive.”

Dottie lowers the revolver.

Peggy cocks her gun.

“No!” Daniel blurts. “Peggy, you can’t shoot her.”

“Why the bloody hell not?” Her finger stays on the trigger. “Daniel, she’ll slip away again!”

He watches helplessly as Peggy takes aim. There’s nothing he can do while bound to the chair, but he can’t let Peggy shoot Dottie.

Not when she’s raising her hands in surrender.

Not when she’s their only hope of making it out alive.

“Peggy!” Daniel shouts. “I’m working with her!”

*

**_12 hours earlier ..._ **

“You eat like this every morning, English?” Angie wants to know, grabbing a cruller off the plate Jarvis brings to the table. She tears off a bite of pastry and pops it into her mouth with a little moan.

“Crullers are Chief Sousa’s favorites,” Ana informs Angie before Peggy can finish chewing. “Edwin makes them whenever he thinks we might see Daniel of a morning.”

Angie arches an eyebrow. “What’d he do, slip out with the paperboy? ’Cause I’m pretty sure he spent the night down the - _ouch.”_

“What was that?” Peggy asks sweetly.

“Nothing,” Angie grumbles, reaching under the table to rub her shin. She plasters a huge smile on her face and asks, “And will Chief Sousa be gracing _the rest of us_ with his appearance this morning?”

Peggy almost spits out her tea. “Oh,” she says as Jarvis, at the stove, stiffens, “I’m sure Daniel will head straight for - ” there’s the tell-tale click of a crutch in the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone cutting a corner too close. Daniel swears under his breath. “Look at that,” she says brightly. “I guess he decided to join us after all.”

Daniel doesn’t say anything, just smiles sheepishly as he kisses Peggy on the cheek. He settles into the chair next to her, where Jarvis has already placed a freshly-ironed newspaper.

“Good morning, Chief Sousa,” says Jarvis, bustling in with the coffee pot. “Cream, no sugar, yes?” He empties the last of the carafe into Daniel’s cup.

“Better make more, Jarvis,” Angie quips. “Sounded like the chief had a late night.”

Daniel actually does spit out a mouthful of coffee, all over the sports section. This time, when Peggy goes to kick Angie under the table, her friend kicks back. Only it’s Daniel’s ankle Angie’s foot connects with, and not the prosthetic one. His eyes bulge. “Sorry, Chief,” says Angie with an exaggerated wink.

Daniel scarcely has time to shoot Peggy a bewildered look before Jarvis returns to the breakfast nook with a frying pan and begins to pile breakfast meat aggressively on everyone’s plate but Ana’s. Peggy shrugs and spears a sausage with her fork.

“Did you enjoy visiting the studio lot yesterday, Angie?” Ana asks in an obvious attempt to spare Peggy and Daniel further embarrassment.

The silverware jumps as Angie slaps the table. “It was awesome! Apparently, Howard slept with one of the girls with a bit part, and she walked off the set.”

“The director’s going to let Angie audition for the role,” Peggy translates for the others. “We’re headed back down there this morning.”

Daniel’s on his third cruller. “Guess that means I’m headed to the hospital alone.” He catches Peggy’s sidelong glance and explains, “Just need Thompson’s signature on a few things,” like they both don’t try to get by most days to visit the still-recuperating Jack.

“And how is Chief Thompson?” Jarvis inquires, finally joining them at the table, though his eyes continue to twitch in the direction of the stairs. Howard still hasn’t emerged from the master bedroom.

“Not happy the SSR wants him to continue his recovery here in LA,” says Daniel. “I brought him tacos the other night, try to ease the sting of it, and he complained they gave him heartburn.” He glances at his watch. “Speaking of Jack, I better get going. It’s already 11 in New York. See you at the office later?” Peggy nods, tilting her face up for a chaste kiss. Daniel grabs a fourth cruller. “Jarvis, these are incredible. Way better than the ones they sell at that French bistro on Sixth.”

“I should think so,” Jarvis huffs, “seeing how they don’t even employ a pastry chef.”

“Compliment, Jarvis,” says Daniel, holding up the donut. He limps off.

As soon as he closes the front door behind him, Angie says, “I don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” says Peggy as Jarvis pauses from clearing Daniel’s plate to allow her to take the uneaten bacon.

“Why’s everyone pretending Peggy’s cute new beau just stopped in for breakfast when we all know he slept over?” Angie smirks. “Or, you know, stayed up doin’ the other thing.”

“Oh, look at the time,” says Peggy, “and I’m not even ready.” Though, instead of beating a hasty retreat to her bedroom, she pulls her silk robe tighter and follows Jarvis into the kitchen. She can hear Ana explaining to Angie that it’s important Peggy and Daniel maintain appearances. For work, of course. “Something you’d like to say?”

Jarvis has a bad habit of hand-washing the dishes before loading them in the dishwasher. “What gave you that impression, Miss Carter?”

Peggy leans in the doorway. “I fear you don’t approve of Daniel.”

Jarvis scrubs harder at the plate, which is already sparkling. “I assure you, Miss Carter, I like Chief Sousa just fine.”

“But you’d prefer he didn’t stay the night.”

“What you and Chief Sousa choose to do of an evening is hardly my business, Miss Carter,” says Jarvis, though with considerable restraint.

Peggy crosses her arms. “We’ll go to his place next time,” she says tersely, which is to say that night, since she has little interest in sleeping alone these days. Not when she can have Daniel’s warm form lying next to her.

Jarvis stops his maniacal washing. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

_“What?”_

“I said - ”

“I heard what you said,” Peggy snaps. “So if you don’t want Daniel sleeping here, or me sleeping there, what do you propose, Mr. Jarvis? You know bloody well I stayed in LA to - ” she breaks off at a peal of giggles, though by the time she turns her head she only glimpses the brunette Howard’s walking to the door from behind. “I don’t hear you giving Mr. Stark’s overnight guests a hard time,” Peggy finishes furiously.

“Or yours,” Jarvis points out. “In fact, I made Chief Sousa crullers.” Before Peggy can throw up her hands in frustration, he continues, “Mr. Stark is my employer. You, Miss Carter, are a friend. Which is why I would be remiss not to express concern for your reputation.”

“My reputation?” Peggy repeats. “What ever happened to, ‘What you and Chief Sousa choose to do is hardly my business?’” she asks through clenched teeth.

This would, of course, be the moment Howard saunters into the kitchen, robe open to reveal his bare chest and sleep shorts. “Peg,” he says, pointing at her with a cruller, “Jarvis must really like Chief Sousa. He won’t get up in the morning to make these for me.”

And he wanders back out.

“You’ve misunderstood me, Miss Carter,” Jarvis says quietly, eyes averted. “I am delighted you have decided to stay in Los Angeles to pursue a romantic relationship with Chief Sousa.” He lifts his chin. “But I am fearful it may come at the cost of your career. Please don’t move your nighttime activities to his house. It’s owned by the SSR, yes?”

Peggy feels her face grow hot. “Yes,” she admits.

Jarvis clears his throat. “Whenever you and Miss Martinelli are ready,” he says, “I will drive you to Stark Pictures.”

*  
_“I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;_  
_Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the Spider to the Fly._  
_“There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,_  
_And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!”_

*

“I keep thinking,” says Jack as he signs the last piece of paper with a flourish, “Carter’s transfer will be in one of these stacks you insist on bringing me.”

Daniel, who’d been about to reach for documents, freezes. “C-Carter’s transfer?” he stammers, then quickly regains composure. He lifts himself out of the chair and hobbles to Jack’s bedside. “C’mon, Jack. You know Peg’s not going anywhere until she figures out who shot you.”

Jack snorts, which must pull on his stitches because his face falls into a wince. “It’s been what? Two months? I’m not even sure why she’s still out here. Considering how many times _she’s_ threatened to off me, you really think she’s committed to finding my would-be killer?”

Daniel pretends not to notice Jack massaging his breastbone with a closed fist. “Trust me, Jack. There’s no one you’d rather have working this case than Peg.”

“Yeah, well, tell her she might have solved it by now if she’d spent a little more time working and a little less time surfing with Rose.”

Daniel’s about to tell Jack there hadn’t been another surfing lesson after the first, then realizes that must be where Peggy says she’s going when she’s really meeting him. “Anything I can get you before I go?”

“Yeah,” Jack grumbles, “a match so I can burn your shirt.”

Daniel looks down at his colorful shirt, which Jarvis had pressed at some point during the night. “What’s wrong with my shirt? Everyone in LA wears them.”

Jack makes a noise of disgust and rubs his chest again. “Get outta my sight.”

Daniel gives Jack a little salute. If it’s to mask the guilt Daniel’s feeling, well, the other bureau chief doesn’t need to know it. Then again, he hasn’t broached the subject of making her transfer permanent with Peggy, let alone Jack. He’s not really paying attention to where he’s going and almost trips a passing nurse with his crutch.

Fortunately, Daniel manages to catch her by the shoulders. “Sorry! I can’t believe - _Dottie?”_

There’s a glint of shiny steel, then Dottie has him pinned against the wall. “Hi, Chief,” she purrs, and he stops struggling as soon as he feels the press of the blade beneath his arm. “Oh, good. Then I don’t need to explain what happens if my hand slips. I need a favor.”

“You always ask for favors at knifepoint?” Daniel grits, desperately scanning the hallway for any signs of movement. No doubt Dottie’s ensured it’ll stay empty.

“Oh, Chief Sousa,” says Dottie with a girlish giggle as she eases the knife between two ribs, “I don’t usually have to ask.”

Red-faced, Daniel manages, “I’m listening.”

“I want my ledger. Will you help me get it?”

“Your ledger?” It takes him a second to realize she means Leviathan. “What? Are you crazy? I’m not going to help you - ”

Dottie’s teeth scrape Daniel’s earlobe as she twists the knife, now dangerously close to piercing skin. “Are you really in a position to argue?”

“We’re in a hospital,” he points out, much braver than he feels. “I like my odds.”

“What about Peggy?” Dottie says sweetly. “Movie sets are such _dangerous_ places. Oh my gosh, just think of the damage one of those big lights could do if it came loose from its rigging!”

Daniel blanches. “How’d you know - ”

“You’re asking the wrong question,” Dottie sing-songs. “I have one of my own.” Her hot breath demands, “Was it worth it? To rest upon her little bed? To draw her pretty curtains? To - ”

There’s a sound like a button popping as the knife punctures Daniel’s jacket. _Be glad it’s not a lung._ “Why me?” he gasps.

She’s behind him, but Daniel can imagine Dottie’s lips sinking into a perfect pout. “Why, Chief Sousa, you’re just the man for the job.”

And she withdraws the knife.

Daniel doubles over, desperately trying to catch his breath. “Bait,” he says between great gulps of air. “You want to use me as bait.”

Dottie’s touch is light, drawing his chin up. “Now you’re thinking like an SSR bureau chief!” she says brightly. “Meet me in the parking lot in five minutes.”

Daniel sets his jaw. “And if I don’t?”

“Gosh, Chief, it’d be so unfortunate if someone loaded one of the prop guns they’re using in the big shootout scene with real bullets.”

Daniel swallows hard. He can’t believe he’s about to do this. “If I do this for you - ” _and somehow make it out alive_ “ - you’ll leave me and Peggy alone?”

“And here I was, prepared to offer you the identity of Chief Thompson’s shooter!” Dottie chirps. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“What?”

“Don’t trip over the surgeon at the end of the hall. Oh, don’t make that face. He’s unconscious, not dead.”

She pats Daniel’s cheek, and she’s gone.

*

_“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly,  “for I've often heard it said,_  
_They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!”_

*

Turns out, Angie’s “audition” is just the balding casting director asking her to spin around as he puffs a cigarette. “Wardrobe’s that way,” he points, eyes raking over Peggy’s curvaceous figure. “Your friend want a part?”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly act,” says Peggy in an over-eager American accent. She bats her eyelashes, then pretends to trip on her way out the door. She grabs the casting director by the tie. He hurks. She treads on his foot for good measure. “My goodness!” she gushes, “I am such a klutz.” She departs with a little wave.

Angie’s in stitches all the way to the costume trailer. “I’ve missed you, English,” she says, linking arms with Peggy. Though Angie had arrived in LA a day earlier, it’s the first time the two friends have been alone without Daniel or Howard or the Jarvises since her plane touched down. “So tell me everything.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “And I mean _everything.”_

Peggy sighs. “I suppose you’re asking how things are going with Daniel.”

_“Well,”_ Angie wants to know, kicking up dust in the dirt lot when she stops short, “how is it?”

Peggy plays dumb. “How’s what?”

“You know,” says Angie, “without the - ” she trails off, gesturing vaguely about her left leg.

Peggy finds herself pointing to the right of Angie’s hand. “Other side.”

“So you have seen it!” Angie grins broadly as Peggy blushes. “C’mon, English, I’m just messin’ with you. Though,” she says slyly, “I wouldn’t say no if you _did_ want to go into the details.”

“Angie!” Peggy splutters.

“A girl deserves to know what kind of guy her roommate’s leaving her for!” Angie insists, handing the wardrobe attendant the ticket from the casting director.

Flustered, Peggy mutters something about being almost out of vacation time, but it’s not like they both don’t know the trip out West was her grand overture to Angie. The wardrobe attendant passes back a costume that looks suspiciously like Angie’s diner uniform. “What,” asks Peggy, “did Howard say the part was?”

“He didn’t,” says Angie darkly, checking the tag safety-pinned to the collar. “Waitress No. 2,” she reads. She sighs, then squares her shoulders. “Good thing I’ve got a lot of experience playing one in real life, huh?”

“Oh, Angie,” Peggy breathes. She’s about to suggest they blow off the studio entirely, when Howard’s PA taps her on the shoulder.

“Miss Carter? Phone for you.”

Peggy frowns. “Phone for me?”

The PA beckons for Peggy to follow her into one of the cluttered offices along the perimeter of the soundstage. “This is Peggy Carter speaking,” she says into the receiver.

“Peg,” says Daniel, and he sounds so relieved it immediately raises her hackles.

“Daniel, what is it? Is something - ”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “Sorry if I scared you. Whoever picked up the phone didn’t sound too confident they’d be able to find you.”

His tone evens out, but Peggy isn’t easily placated. “Jack didn’t turn a corner, did he?” she asks sharply.

“Jack?” says Daniel. “Jack’s fine. Threatened to burn my shirt, even.”

_Maybe he’s really and truly out of the woods._ “Then why are you calling me, Daniel?”

“Can you handle the 2 p.m. call with New York without me? I have something I want to follow up on, might take a couple hours.”

“And what lead would that be?” Peggy asks, curling her fingers through the phone cord in anticipation. Of what, she isn’t sure. On top of the standard SSR protocols for signaling distress, she and Daniel have a private code they’ve agreed to use in the unlikely event of a kidnapping, and so far he hasn’t said a word of it.

There’s a pause. “I’d prefer not to say, Peg. This isn’t a secure line.”

“Daniel Sousa, I’m not OK with you chasing leads alone,” she says crossly before ordering him to swing by the studio lot and take her with him.

“Peggy, relax. I’m not alone.” He chuckles. “The only reason I’m not asking you to come along is I need someone I trust to handle New York, OK? Enjoy your morning with Angie,” he says firmly. “I’ll see you later.”

Nothing about parlors, spiders _or_ flies. “You infuriating man,” says Peggy, but Daniel’s already hung up.

* 

He hadn’t told Peggy he loved her that morning.

Daniel still can’t hardly believe he gets to say it now, whether it’s when they’re parting company or hanging up the phone or just falling asleep in the moonlit guest room at Howard’s. Even more astonishing is the fact that Peggy says it back, has been saying it back ever since he stupidly blurted out that he loved her when they’d been only dating a few weeks, says it with warmth and affection and a little half-smile that makes him fall for her all over again.

Yet for some reason he hadn’t said it that morning. Maybe it was Angie’s teasing, or else Jarvis’ weighty disapproval. All Daniel knows is he didn’t say it, and now he doesn’t know if he’ll ever have another chance.

He could tell her now, of course. But Daniel’s not stupid. He knows Peggy’s suspicious. He’s only calling because Dottie will expect him to call and alert Peggy of his predicament. Daniel has no intention of dropping one of their secret words into the conversation, however. Let Dottie set a trap. He’s not about to let Peggy walk into it. _I love you._ “Enjoy your morning with Angie,” he tells her firmly. “I’ll see you later.”

And he hangs up the phone, thanking the nurse at reception for letting him use it. “Oh,” he says, like it’s an afterthought. “There’s a big puddle outside the second floor janitor’s closet. You might want to send someone up to check it out.” He taps the counter and leaves.

Dottie’s leaning against the green Ford, clucking her tongue. She’s shucked the stolen nurse’s uniform for a blue dress that’s anything but sedate. “Did I say you could call Peggy?”

“You know she’s going to find me, right?” Daniel says confidently as he fishes his keys out of his pocket. He just happens to hope he’s wrong. “She’ll - ”

Dottie slams him so hard against the car he loses his grip on his crutch. _“Tsk, tsk,”_ she hisses, pinning Daniel’s arms behind his back, “how’s she supposed to know to rescue you when you didn’t tell her about the spider’s invitation?” And, horribly, she begins to recite a children’s poem with which he’d been unfamiliar until one night Peggy said it reminded her of Dottie. “‘Will you walk into my parlor?’” she sings, and she dislocates Daniel’s arm.

He has to remind himself to breathe through the pain. “Peggy - isn’t - coming,” he pants as Dottie continues to contort his shoulder into a more painful position.

“Oh, she’ll come,” says Dottie cheerfully. “Unfortunately for you, Chief Sousa, you’ve left me no choice but to do this the hard way.”

The last thing Daniel remembers thinking before he blacks out is he sees it, now, the fatal flaw in all their weeks of planning for Dottie’s inevitable return: the assumption it would be Peggy who was taken, and Daniel flexing the full weight of the SSR to bring her home.

*

“Bravo, Angie!” Peggy yells when the director says it’s a wrap. Angie bounces over with her prop tray and a big grin. “Well done! Was that in the script?”

“Nope!” says Angie, watching as the lead actor calls miserably for wardrobe after the thorough baptism-by-drinking-glass she’d just delivered. “Felt in character, though.” In Peggy’s ear, she whispers, “He tried to grope me.”

The fun, however, isn’t meant to last. Her first clue there’s something amiss is Agent Ryan’s inexplicable presence on the soundstage. Peggy thinks she sees Agent Johnson up ahead, too. She reaches into her handbag. “Angie,” she says out of the corner of her mouth, “get behind me.”

“Peggy, what’s - ”

But then the crowd parts, and Peggy’s heart sinks. Because Rose is striding toward them with a look on her face that can only mean bad news. “Daniel,” Peggy whispers as Rose envelops her in a tight hug.

“The hospital called about an hour ago,” says Rose, and she holds Peggy at arm’s length. “His crutch was found outside his car in the parking lot. There were - signs of a struggle.”

“You mean blood,” Angie interjects.

When Rose doesn’t deny it, Peggy demands, “How much?”

“I immediately sent a team to guard Director Thompson, and Agents Ryan and Johnson to keep an eye on you,” Rose continues, “but I thought the news should come from someone you trust.”

“How much blood, Rose?” But Peggy already knows the answer. She closes her eyes.

Rose’s voice is soft. “Enough, Peg.”

*

Daniel comes to with a splitting headache and a jacket covered in bodily fluids, his arms tied behind him to the chair. The rope pulls uncomfortably on his injured shoulder. His vision blurs and sharpens. “Peggy,” he mutters, probably because that’s who he wants to see when his eyes finally focus.

_No,_ he reminds himself, _you don’t want Peggy._

If Peggy comes, they’re both dead.

“How are you feeling?” Dottie asks in a tone that’d be downright sympathetic if she weren’t a psychotic assassin. “Are you in pain? You look like you’re in pain.”

“What do you think, Underwood?” Daniel grits. He flexes experimentally in an attempt to gauge how tightly she’s bound his wrists, and searing pain shoots from his left shoulder all the way down through his fingertips. He glares at her. “That’s my crutch arm.”

Dottie shrugs at his discomfort. “You know, the SSR might want to invest in sensitivity training.” She cocks her head. “Well, desensitivity training. Why, it hardly stung when Peggy tossed me out of that window last year!”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I write next year’s budget,” Daniel grumbles. He’s forced to abandon his efforts to escape when the pain of his dislocated shoulder begins to cloud the corners of his vision.

Dottie openly pouts. “I’m disappointed in you, Chief Sousa,” she scolds, circling him. “Given the choice between your crutch and your sidearm, I figured you’d be grateful you could still fire a gun.”

“You took my gun,” Daniel points out. He can see his holster lying on a table a few feet away. Along with the chair Dottie had occupied until he started to come around, it’s the only furniture in the room. “Surprised you didn’t take my leg.”

“But why would you want me to take your prosthesis, Chief Sousa?” Dottie sinks to a crouch in front of him. Her hands ghost his thighs, one flesh and one plastic. “Not when there’s a handy dandy tracker in it that’s bound to lead Peggy to you.”

Daniel swallows hard as she unzips his pants and shimmies them down over his scarred limb. “What’s your endgame, Underwood?” he asks quietly, and he picks a point on the wall over her shoulder to stare at as she unstraps his prosthesis. He wishes she’d done this while he was still unconscious. “What makes you so sure - ” he catches himself before he says _Peggy_ “ - Agent Carter will rescue me?”

_“Ugh,”_ says Dottie, finally locating the switch near Daniel’s mechanical knee. She flips it. “What’s with the formality all of a sudden? And here I thought you were the reason she’s had such a spring in her step lately.” She casts a significant glance at his crotch, then winks.

Daniel feels the flush to the tips of his ears, but he doesn’t make eye contact with Dottie. “It was you, wasn’t it?” he asks once he’s all buttoned back. “This morning, leaving Stark mansion. You were the brunette.”

_“Oh, Howard,”_ Dottie moans in a spectacular imitation of the redhead the billionaire entertained last week. And, Daniel realizes with a start, a blonde the month before. Dottie rolls her eyes. “Don’t be such a prude, Daniel. Like I haven’t heard Peggy call your name a few times. Hey!” she says brightly. “Maybe you could teach Howard a few things about making a girl’s toes curl. I’m getting a little bored of his ‘tricks,’ to be honest.”

The way her fingers curl around “tricks” makes Daniel’s blood run cold. Dottie’d bragged to Peggy once about her ability to become anyone she wanted. But had she really returned week after week to collect intel on them under the auspices of sleeping with Howard?

“You’re lying,” he spits.

“You know what took me the longest time to figure out?” Dottie asks. Daniel doesn’t answer. “Why you didn’t just take her back to your place. Was it the ridiculously high thread counts? The three-course breakfast the next day? Jeeves ironing your skivvies? Or - ” her lips curl into a smirk “ - did you just not feel safe taking her back to the house the SSR built?”

*

“Hey!” calls the cop as Peggy strides purposely toward Samberly and the other SSR scientists processing Daniel’s car. “This is a crime scene, lady. You can’t - ”

Her badge hits him square in the chest.

“What took you so long?” Samberly wants to know. “Chief Sousa is missing.”

“Yes, Dr. Samberly, I’m aware,” Peggy says tersely, lifting her sunglasses as she peers through the broken window. There’s a sharp intake of breath when she notices the blood.

“Oh yeah,” says Samberly, “at least a pint, not to mention - ” he points to a blood splatter on the pavement “ - the amount lost transferring him to another vehicle - ” Peggy’s eyes follow the trail of blood clear across the parking lot “ - yeah, that’s probably another pint. Let’s see, the average person has 10 pints of blood, starts to go into shock after losing two - ” he ticks all this off on his fingers “ - only the chief’s missing a leg, so let’s say 8.5 - ” the scientist bobs his head back and forth, then nods “ - yeah, he’s probably dead.”

Peggy exhales slowly and tells herself any number of things that could be true. Samberly’s math could be off. Daniel could have fought with the attacker. Then it wouldn’t all be his blood.

_Or Samberly’s right, and it’s already too late._ Peggy pushes the terrible thought aside. “Anything else, Dr. Samberly?” she asks primly.

“Here,” says the scientist, reaching into the Ford’s open trunk and producing a mason jar. “You know what this is?”

As soon as she sees the spider, Peggy takes a step back. “N-no,” she stammers. _Yes. Dottie._

_“Latrodectus,”_ says Samberly, “more commonly known as widow spiders. I’ll have to take it back to the lab to determine the species.” He gives the jar a little shake. “Huh. I guess she ate it.”

“Ate what?” Peggy says sharply.

“There was a fly buzzing around earlier,” Samberly explains, but Peggy isn’t listening. She turns on her heel in the direction of the hospital. “I’ll have you know,” he calls after her, “this wasn’t the kind of fieldwork I had in mind!”

“Finally,” Jack complains when Peggy flings the door of his hospital room open with a bang. “Are you here to tell me what prompted the SSR to send Tweedledee and Tweedledum to watch over me?”

“Stop trying to crane your neck, Jack,” Peggy replies, tone brisk. “You’ll pop a suture.” Before he can mouth off, she says, “I need you to tell me everything you can remember about Daniel’s visit this morning.”

Jack shakes his head. “Yeah, no, I’m not telling you anything until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Dottie Underwood has taken Daniel, and you’re wasting time.” Peggy taps her foot impatiently as Jack’s eyes bulge. “I need to know what you talked about and for approximately how long. I need to know if anything seemed out of the ordinary. Did Daniel seem restless? Agitated in any way?”

To Jack’s credit, he offers up straightforward answers to all her questions. “Dunno when he got here. Best guess? Quarter to 9. The nurse had already come around to clear the breakfast tray. He had a bunch of paperwork from the New York office for me to sign. Only interesting if you’ve been following the formation of the National Military Establishment closely. He was in and out in 20 minutes.” Jack scratches his chin. “Though, now that you mention it, he was a bit flustered.”

“Flustered?”

“Subject of your transfer came up.”

“My transfer?” Peggy says sharply.

Jack smirks. “Funny how I can’t get a straight answer when I ask if you’re planning to move out here permanently.”

“Director Thompson,” Peggy says through gritted teeth, “if I may, the West Coast Bureau Chief is missing. Surely we have more important things to worry about than which office I report to?”

_Like how we get Daniel back._

Jack rubs his mouth. “Yeah, Marge, about that. Seeing as I’m technically still your supervisor, I feel obligated to inform you the SSR has a pretty strict no-negotiation policy for its bureau chiefs.”

“A _what?”_

“It’s, you know, part of the contract. ‘Do you solemnly swear to uphold the values of the Strategic Scientific Reserve?’ Yes. ‘Do you understand no man’s life can come before the integrity of the organization?’ Initial here, sign there. Seeing as I was taking over for Dooley, they made quite a fuss when I got to that page. What, Sousa didn’t get the same spiel?”

If Daniel had, in fact, signed such a contract, he’d never mentioned it to Peggy. She sinks slowly into one of the hard plastic chairs opposite Jack. “The SSR doesn’t negotiate.”

“Not on behalf of its bureau chiefs, no.”

Peggy doesn’t suppose Jack has reason to lie to her. “Why not?”

Jack sighs. “Because, Marge. If they did, they might as well paint targets on our backs. An agent like you, you’ve got plausible deniability. The phone company signs your checks. Meanwhile, my name turns up in reports to Congress.”

“The SSR won’t go looking for Daniel,” Peggy says slowly.

“Eh, they’ll poke around a bit, turn over a few stones,” says Jack. “But the moment they get wind a trained Soviet assassin’s involved? Bet you’re starting to regret springing Underwood now.”

“How dare you try to pin this on me,” says Peggy furiously. After all, Daniel had signed off on her terrible idea. Daniel, who was paying the price now. “You’ve not one shred of evidence - ”

“I would,” says Jack, “if I’d - ”

“An awful lot of bravado for a man who hasn’t been out of bed in two months,” Peggy seethes, rising from the chair.

“ - had the chance to investigate, I would,” Jack finishes.

They face off for several seconds, until they’re interrupted by about the last person Peggy would expect to come bursting through the door.

Well, maybe not the last. That spot’s reserved for Dottie. But Angie, having exchanged the diner uniform for nurse’s whites, is still near the bottom of the list. “He still needs his medication!” she hollers, slamming the door on the two stunned-looking agents posted outside Jack’s room. She gives Peggy a dazzling smile as she smooths her skirt. “How was that?”

Peggy blinks, stunned. “Wonderful, Angie. But what - ”

“You’re needed back at Howard’s,” Angie interrupts. She cracks her gum and jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “Jarvis is waiting around back. Trouble is, a couple of guys from the Department of War have joined the fathead SSR agents in the hallway. Rose thinks they’ve come to interrogate you, Peg.”

“Me? Why would they - ”

“I don’t know, Marge,” Jack interjects, “could it be that you and ol’ Danny boy haven’t been quite as sly as you think?” He squints at Angie. “Hey, aren’t you the girl from the - ”

Peggy turns to her friend. “I assume you have a plan?” She eyes the window. They’re two floors up. She could probably climb down, but someone in the parking lot’s bound to notice.

Angie snaps her fingers to get Peggy’s attention. “Nope, no way, eyes over here,” she says. “No dangling out of windows this time, English. You’re just gonna swap outfits with me and walk right out that door.”

“I’m going to walk right out that door,” Peggy says skeptically. It’s not a very good plan.

Angie makes a face. “I didn’t think I needed to say keep your head down when you do.”

“Angie, they’ll know!”

“No, they won’t.” Angie snorts. “Trust me on this one, Peg. There’s not a guy who comes into the automat who cares what name’s on my uniform. It’s ‘honey,’ or ‘sweetie,’ or ‘where’s my coffee?’ Doesn’t matter if they’re sitting in Josephine’s section or Ruth’s been taking care of them. They snap their fingers and expect a girl in teal to come running.” Now Angie is unpinning the nurse’s cap. She pokes one of the bobby pins in Jack’s direction before clenching it between her teeth. “This idiot? He was one of my regulars back when I worked at the diner on 59th. Now, I know I never forget a crappy tipper - ”

“Hey!” Jack protests.

“ - but I gotta say, it stung a little when he didn’t recognize me that time at the Griffith looking for you. I waited on him every day for half a year. I’m telling you, Peg. Soon as you put on a uniform, you become invisible.” Angie spits the bobby pins into her hand.

Peggy swipes them. “Give me those,” she says grimly, kicking off her shoes.

Jack’s got an eyebrow arched. “Let’s pretend for a second your friend - ”

_“Angie,”_ the two women say in unison.

“Unbelievable,” says Angie, popping the first button on the borrowed - _stolen?_ \- nurse’s uniform. “He still doesn’t know my name.”

“Fine,” Jack concedes. “Maybe you really can waltz out of this room wearing that uniform. But are you really going to change in front of your - ”

“Close your eyes, Jack,” Peggy commands, and she yanks off her blouse.

*

Daniel’s teetering on that fine line between consciousness and ... not when he hears himself ask, “You got a name?”

Dottie smiles as she drops into the chair across from him, hands resting on her knees. “You know my name, Chief.”

“I know - ” it’s with considerable effort Daniel rolls his head up to look her in the eye “ - what you put on your lease at the Griffith. But you didn’t grow up in Iowa, Dot. Who’re you, really?”

He almost misses it, the thin purse of her lips. “But Chief,” she says cheerfully, “you already know the answer. I can be whoever I want to be.”

“That what you tell yourself every night when you’re cuffing yourself to your bed, Ida?” He knows better than to close his eyes, but they flutter shut just the same. “I’m doing you a favor. Don’t I at least deserve a name?”

Her palm lands with a smack against his cheek. “Don’t pass out,” Dottie admonishes.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Daniel mutters, attempting to square his shoulders. It’s almost as bad an idea as springing Dottie in the first place, and he has to swallow a cry. “If you have any tips from desensitivity training,” he manages, forehead damp with sweat, “I’m all ears.”

Dottie’s fingertips graze the tip of his ear, the line of his jaw. He’s tied too securely to jerk away. “I bet Peggy likes those.”

Daniel grimaces. “Yeah, well, Peggy doesn’t like to share.” He takes a slow, shuddering breath. _That’s no good._ Shallow breathing means shock. That’s what he’d been told at the field hospital after he’d been shot.

But Daniel’s finding it much harder to breath deeply without morphine, without the compassion of the Army nurses who would keep him comfortable if they couldn’t save his life. At least on the front he’d been surrounded by people who cared. Even if he somehow manages to survive this, his shoulder might never be the same. Where would that leave him? It’s bad enough that Peggy has to put up with his limp and his crutch. He closes his eyes. _Focus on your breathing._

“ - it’s only polite,” Dottie’s saying. She rises to her feet. “Chief Sousa?”

No, he won’t do it. If Dottie returns him alive but broken, unable to use his crutch arm, he won’t saddle Peggy with that burden. Daniel forces himself to take a deep breath. Pain spiders down his arm. He gasps.

That’s Dottie’s cue to slam his shoulder back into place.

Daniel blacks out.

*

Howard takes one look at the nurse’s uniform straining across Peggy’s bust and quips, “You know, that’s not a bad look on you.”

Peggy crosses her arms. “I’d punch you, Howard, but I haven’t the time,” she says brusquely. “Is it true you have something that will help me find Daniel?”

It takes some impatient toe-tapping on Peggy’s part to get the billionaire’s eyes off her bosom. He clears his throat. “Right,” says Howard. “You remember me taking Sousa’s leg to tinker with a few weeks back?”

Peggy does not, in fact, recall any such thing. “No?” She watches as Howard flips a switch on a complicated-looking gizmo on his lab table. A light begins to blink.

“You might have been asleep,” says Howard. He pauses thoughtfully. “Come to think, so might’ve Chief Sousa.”

“Howard,” Peggy says sharply, “are you telling me you sneaked in while we slept to steal Daniel’s prosthesis?”

Howard waves his hand. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “I had Jarvis do it.”

“Howard!”

“I told him in the morning what I’d done,” says Howard, like it justifies his behavior. Which, Peggy supposes, to him it probably does. He grabs a pencil and begins scribbling numbers on a piece of paper. “Here.”

Peggy recognizes what he’s written at once. _Coordinates._ “Howard, you’re not saying - ”

“ - that’s where the tracker in Danny boy’s leg was activated,” Howard says with a flourish. It’s his turn to cross his arms. “I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you.’”

Peggy’s too busy unfolding a map of Los Angeles. “There,” she says, with a jab of her finger. “North of the river, probably somewhere in the Wholesale District.” She snatches up what she assumes is the receiver. “This can help us pinpoint his location, yes?”

Howard rubs his mouth. “About that.”

“Howard.”

“Sousa kept turning the tracker on accidentally.” Howard picks up the pencil and begins to fidget with it. “So, uh, I went back and rigged it so the leg had to be off.”

“Daniel has to take his prosthesis off to activate the tracker?” Peggy closes her eyes. _Of course there’s a catch._ “Thank you, Howard,” she says primly.

But before she can turn, the billionaire catches her by the elbow. “Peggy, wait,” Howard pleads. “I’m not trying - for all we know, Sousa could’ve taken his leg off to activate the tracker and put it right back on.”

She yanks her arm away. “I won’t get my hopes up,” she says through gritted teeth.

Jarvis is waiting for her outside Howard’s lab. “Ah, yes, Miss Carter,” he says, keeping pace as she takes the stairs two at a time, “I’ve put out your recreation clothes.”

Peggy rounds on him. “My recreation clothes?” she hisses. “Mr. Jarvis, I assure you, there isn’t anything recreational about Daniel - about Daniel - ”

_Daniel could be dead._ The thought stops Peggy in her tracks, and she sinks slowly to sit on the stairs. On her blind mission to find Daniel she’s ignored mounting evidence that Dottie may have already killed him.

To surprise, Jarvis joins her on the step. “My apologies, Miss Carter. I never intended to suggest rescuing Chief Sousa would be recreational, only that you might wish to change first.”

“Quite right, Mr. Jarvis,” Peggy murmurs. She can’t very well go chasing leads in a nurse’s uniform two sizes too small. Angie hadn’t said how she’d come by it, and Peggy hadn’t given it any thought at the hospital. Here, though, perched on Howard’s staircase, it occurs to her Dottie probably used the same disguise to wander the halls unnoticed.

Suddenly, Peggy very much wants out of the restrictive uniform.

“Miss Carter?” Jarvis calls. “About this morning - ”

“This had better not be another lecture, Mr. Jarvis,” Peggy snaps. It’s reflexive. “I apologize,” she says, fingers curled tightly around the railing. “It’s just time is of the essence.”

“Of course,” Jarvis agrees. “I’ll bring the car around.”

Yet Peggy doesn’t budge. “Once I’ve found Daniel - ” _assuming he’s still alive_ “ - we won’t trouble you again.”

“Miss Carter, that’s not - ”

“Yes, it is,” Peggy insists, and she has to wipe her eyes. She’s just so worried about Daniel. “Don’t worry about helping me find him. You’ve made your position quite clear.”

“Of course I’ll help you find Chief Sousa,” says Jarvis gently, hands clasped, “and there’s no need for you to stop - ” his pause is thoughtful “ - whatever it is you’re doing. Ana and I rather enjoy the chief’s company at breakfast. I only worry - ”

“What? What could you possibly have to - ”

“Your reputation, Miss Carter. I know how much it means to you. I would hate to see your affection for Chief Sousa used against you.” Jarvis smiles thinly. “But this is hardly the time nor the place for that conversation, you’re quite right. Let’s go rescue the chief, shall we?”

“Yes, let’s,” says Peggy.

And she changes quickly in the bedroom where Daniel’s spare crutch is propped against the wall and where the book he’s been reading lies open on the nightstand. If Peggy can’t bring him home, she doubts she’ll ever be able to sleep in “their” bed again.

*

_Said the cunning Spider to the Fly,  “Dear friend what can I do,_  
_To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you?_  
_I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;_  
_I'm sure you're very welcome — will you please to take a slice?”_

_“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly,  “kind Sir, that cannot be,_  
_I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!”_

_“Sweet creature!” said the Spider,  “you're witty and you're wise,_  
_How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!_  
_I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,_  
_If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.”_

_“I thank you, gentle sir,” she said,  “for what you 're pleased to say,_  
_And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day.”_

*

“Drink,” Dottie orders, tilting a cup to Daniel’s lips. As reluctant as he is to part them, Dottie is nothing if not persistent. Water dribbles down his chin. It’s got a metallic taste to it, like it’s been sitting in the pipes for a while. It reminds him of drinking from farm spigots in the French countryside. “Better?”

Daniel’s still tied to the chair, but he’s no longer in agony. The blinding pain has dulled to an ache. “I’m not going to thank you for setting my shoulder when you’re the one who dislocated it in the first place,” he says stubbornly. _“Fuck.”_

Dottie slaps him. “Chief Sousa! You kiss Peggy with that mouth?”

“Why’re you so obsessed with her, anyway?” Daniel wants to know, working his stinging jaw.

He’s not expecting an answer, but he does watch with interest as Dottie circles the table, fingers skimming the edge. Daniel’s trying to work out if it’s a nervous gesture when she volunteers, “It’s a nice name.”

“What?”

“Dorothy. _Dottie._ It’s a nice name. Besides - ” her lips twist into a smirk “ - it’d only confuse the SSR if I changed aliases now.”

Daniel takes stock of his surroundings in a way he hadn’t been able to with his shoulder out of its socket. They’re in an office, he deduces. The room’s the right size, and the door’s like his - letters he can’t read from this side peeling off the frosted glass. In the far corner, a rectangle is outlined in rust, like a filing cabinet used to sit there. Whole place has an industrial feel to it, a factory foreman’s office. “Wholesale District?” he guesses.

Dottie’s got her nails painted the same devastating shade of red Peggy wears. She drums her fingers on the table. _Tap, tap, tap, tap._ “Very good, Chief Sousa,” she says, like she’s praising a small child. “What else?”

“Well, it’s abandoned,” says Daniel, observing a thick layer of dirt and grime, “has been for some time, which means it was never converted for wartime use. Shouldn’t be empty now, though. Unless - ” he thinks grimly of the Auerbach Theatrical Agency sign he passes under each day “ - it’s a front?”

_Tap, tap, tap,_ tap.

It’s only because he’s listening for it that Daniel notices the slight change in rhythm. His next move is to crane his neck so he can see out the sliver of window above Dottie’s head, through which the setting sun is streaking the sky pink and orange. “It’s almost nightfall,” he says. The rope tugging on his injured shoulder is an uncomfortable reminder that while it might be better, it still isn’t right. “You don’t remember, do you?”

The tapping stops. “What is it you think I’ve forgotten, Chief Sousa?”

“Your name,” says Daniel, and he braces for the pain that’s sure to come.

But Dottie doesn’t strike him. “Oh, stop wincing,” she snaps, crossing her arms. Haughtily, she says, “I’m beginning to think you’re the one with the obsession.”

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for red lipstick and strong women.”

She slaps him so hard it echoes. Daniel checks his teeth with his tongue, just to be sure. “I’ve killed men for less,” Dottie hisses.

“But you’re not going kill me,” Daniel points out. “Not while I’m still useful.” While he’s pushing his luck, he figures he might as well ask, “So what’s the plan?”

“Why would I tell you?”

He detects a sour note in her voice. “Thought I was doing you a favor.”

Dottie starts to sit, then springs back up to pace. “Where is she?” she mutters. “I thought she’d be here by now.”

The only light in the room now comes from the single bulb overhead. “Who, Peggy?” _Probably assessing the building for every weakness,_ but Daniel doesn’t tell Dottie that.

Dottie’s in his face in a flash, so close he can feel her hot breath. “Yes, Peggy. Why isn’t she here, Chief Sousa?” She nips at his earlobe. “Doesn’t she care?”

Daniel closes his eyes. “Maybe she knows better than to walk into a trap.” Fortunately for him, Dottie goes to stand by the window. “You’re worried Leviathan’s going to beat her here, aren’t you?” When she doesn’t answer, he continues, “I have to say, Dot, not your best plan. Peggy would never give herself over to Leviathan, not even for me.”

Dottie turns around. He really doesn’t like the slow smile spreading on her lips. “Chief Sousa,” she scolds, “is that really what you think of me?”

That’s when Daniel realizes he’s underestimated Dottie Underwood. Again. His mouth opens, but before he can say anything, there’s the creak of a floorboard, followed by the click of heels.

“Peggy!” Dottie says brightly.

*

_The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,_  
_For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again:_  
_So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,_  
_And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly._

*

They drive in circles around the Wholesale District until at last Howard’s receiver pings outside an abandoned glass factory.

“You are not,” Peggy tells Jarvis as he pulls up to the curb, “under any circumstance, to enter after me. Am I making myself clear?”

Jarvis’ hands remain on the steering wheel. “What if,” he says, turning slowly toward her, “I hear - screaming?”

Peggy checks her sidearm. “Then you remain in the car.”

“What if - ” his eyes settle on the weapon “ - I hear gunshots?”

“Jarvis,” Peggy says warningly.

“What if Chief Sousa staggers out and demands I help rescue you?”

“You take him to the hospital,” says Peggy, “and leave Dottie Underwood to me.”

“And what if Miss Underwood herself runs out?” Jarvis wants to know.

Peggy grits her teeth. “Then I suggest you peel off quickly, Mr. Jarvis, before she can hop in.” She opens the door before he can ask another question. “Daniel and I will meet you on the other side of the block.”

Jarvis swallows. “Very well, Miss Carter.”

There isn’t time to sweep the perimeter. As the sun sinks low on the horizon, Peggy has to settle for a quick count of windows and doors. Many are boarded up. The fire escape on the northwest corner of the building has fallen into disrepair. She might be able to get down it, but certainly not with Daniel. Four floors up, a solitary window is illuminated.

If Dottie wants to hang out a welcome sign ...

Grimly, Peggy finds a door hanging on its hinges and enters the warehouse, any doubt that she was walking into a trap erased. She just hopes Jarvis will stay in the car. It’s one thing to put her life on the line for Daniel, but she can’t ask the butler to do the same.

_Dispassionate._

Peggy watches the headlights disappear around the corner, then takes a cautious step forward.

The floorboard creaks.

Peggy grimaces. _So much for the element of surprise._ She draws her gun, flicking off the safety as she creeps quietly across the factory floor toward the stairwell. She makes a mental note of the location of the freight elevator, just in case. Hopefully it won’t come to that. Hopefully Daniel will be able to walk out with minimal assistance.

But she doubts it.

She passes one landing, then another. On the third floor, Peggy dares to shine her torch at the wall. What she sees gives her pause: a dark stain, not yet faded to rust. Fresh blood. Why had she ignored the funny feeling in her gut when he’d called the studio lot? To think, she’d wasted all those hours on set with Angie when she could have been looking for Daniel.

_You didn’t know. He didn’t tell you._ Why oh why hadn’t he signaled he needed help? Peggy’s gone over their phone conversation once, twice, a hundred times, and she keeps coming back to the same conclusion: Daniel had already come into contact with Dottie when he called.

Finally she reaches the fourth floor. She counts off doors, constantly checking over her shoulder, until she comes to the right one. Peggy flings it open.

“Oh thank God,” she says when she sees Daniel, tightly bound but very much alive.

With Dottie nowhere in sight, Peggy flips the safety back on and stows her gun against the small of her back. She presses a kiss to Daniel’s open mouth, mostly to reassure herself it’s really him and he’s really alive.

“Peggy,” he mutters, brown eyes wide and fearful, “it’s a trap.”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, Daniel, I’d worked that much out. Dottie’s no doubt lurking around a corner, so let’s cut you free posthaste. Now, do you think you can walk?” She squats, trying to figure out how he’s tied. _Honestly._

“Listen to me, Peg,” Daniel pleads, “you have to go. It’s not just - ”

“And what, leave you behind?” Peggy interjects, fishing out her switchblade. “No, Daniel, I most certainly will not.” There’s a gash at his temple, but there’s no way the wound could have bled enough to produce the gruesome scene at the hospital car park. She’s starting to suspect it was all part of Dottie’s ruse. Still, Peggy asks, “Any injuries I should be aware of?”

“Peggy, unless you have the building surrounded - ”

“Mr. Jarvis is waiting with the car,” she says tersely, and then she sighs. “Daniel, why didn’t you tell me the SSR - ”

The knife drops with a clatter, knocked away by his newly-freed fingers.

Peggy stares at him.

_“Go,”_ he says stubbornly. “Before - ”

Too late. Dottie bursts in, Daniel’s sidearm in hand. “Peggy! I knew you’d come.”

Peggy stares down the barrel of the revolver, but she isn’t scared. “Lower your weapon, Dottie,” she orders, gripping her own pistol tightly. She’ll take no pleasure in taking Dottie’s life, but it has to be done. “It was foolish to think you could be brought in alive.”

_No,_ Peggy thinks when Dottie lowers the gun and lifts her hands in surrender, _I won’t be played._ Not again. She reminds herself the value of any information they might extract from Dottie is far outweighed by the danger she poses.

Daniel tries pleading. “No!” he insists, probably worried about her bloodying her hands. “Peggy, you can’t shoot her.”

Peggy’s made up her mind. “Why the bloody hell not? Daniel, she’ll slip away again!”

And she takes aim.

Daniel shouts her name. “I’m working with her!”

Peggy freezes. From the mouth of the man she loves, the words feel like the ultimate betrayal. He’d said earlier he wasn’t alone. Had he really meant Dottie? “You’re _what?”_ she demands.

“You can’t shoot her, Peggy,” Daniel continues. “We need her. Leviathan’s on the way.” Peggy hates the sidelong glance he casts at Dottie. “That was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” he asks. “You didn’t lure Peggy here to kill her. You were hoping she’d help you take on Leviathan.”

Dottie’s hands remain in the air, but she’s smiling. “Well done, Chief Sousa.” To Peggy, Dottie says, “Oh, stop looking so wounded. He didn’t come willingly.”

Peggy clenches her jaw. “Small comfort.”

Dottie claps suddenly. “Now that we’re all here, who wants to hear my plan?”

“No,” says Peggy, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”

It’s Daniel who urges, “Peggy, I think we ought to hear her out.” He swallows. “If she wanted me dead, I would be.”

Peggy supposes he has a point. “Fine,” she agrees. She’s about to lower her gun when, three floors below, a generator cranks on. “What was that?” she asks over the whirring motor.

“Oh!” says Dottie. “That’d be Leviathan. Do you trust me?”

“No!” say Peggy and Daniel in unison.

Dottie huffs. “I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.” Then she proceeds to shoot Daniel.

*

It feels inadequate, “I’m sorry.” But it’s the only thing Daniel can think to say as blood drip, drip, drips down his arm, collecting in a crimson pool beneath his chair.

“You need to stay conscious, Chief,” comes Peggy’s clipped reply.

Daniel tries telling himself she’s just focused on getting herself untied, but her words feel cold, uncaring. _Dispassionate._ “I’m trying, Peg.” He closes his eyes.

“Daniel!”

It’s the obvious panic in her voice that makes him open them again. “Sorry,” he mumbles. He’s about to ask why she’s tied up, too, then remembers how Dottie had overpowered Peggy after shooting him.

“Don’t apologize. Just ... stay with me, Daniel. Please.”

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not - ” Peggy starts, then she bites her lip. “Yes, Daniel. I’m angry. I’m angry and I’m worried and I’m confused. I thought we were a team. Are we not a team, Daniel? Because - ”

“’Course we’re a team.”

“ - when you’re part of a team, you don’t get to decide you’re not going to say anything as you’re being kidnapped.”

Daniel stares at her. “Would you’ve?”

“Would I have what?”

“If our roles had been reversed. Would you’ve told me?” He’s starting to fade on her. He can feel it. “Be honest.”

“Yes!” Peggy insists vehemently. Then she sighs. “No.”

“She played us, Peg.” If only he could rest his eyes for a minute ...

He comes back around at the sound of his name. “Daniel. _Daniel._ Daniel! Daniel Sousa, I swear to God, if you - ”

“S’OK, Peg,” he slurs. “’M not dying. Little light-headed, s’all.” It isn’t even a lie. Dottie’d shot him in the bicep, careful not to hit anything vital. He’s not even in danger of bleeding out. At least not before Leviathan arrives and kills him faster.

“Who said anything about dying?” Peggy says sharply. “Take a deep breath, Daniel.” He obeys. “Again. Focus on my voice. Dottie - ”

\- returns, holding the door open for a rail-thin man with a cadaverous face and a shock of white hair. His woolen jacket might not look out of place in Leningrad, but this is LA. His tongue flicks over his lips at the sight of Daniel and Peggy all trussed up. He nods approvingly. “Good work,” he tells Dottie, and he begins negotiating in rapid-fire Russian.

Peggy’s fluent in Russian, but the only word Daniel knows is _Bolshevik._

No matter. He doesn’t need a translator to interpret the man pulling his Tokarev on Dottie.

Dottie, who smiles and snaps the man’s neck. Before his body’s even hit the floor, she says cheerily, “Ready, Peg?” Daniel must be hallucinating because a second later Peggy, wrists no longer bound, springs from the chair, holding her gun. For a split second, she trains the gun on Dottie, who wags her finger. “Not the plan, Peggy.”

“How would I know?” Peggy grits. “You haven’t told us the plan.”

“Oh, you’ll figure it out,” says Dottie, a second before another Leviathan officer strolls in. There’s hardly time for the shock to register on his face before Dottie breaks his neck, too. “Easy enough?”

Peggy shoots the next henchman to come through the door.

“I knew you’d get it!”

There’s shouting in the hallway. Dottie dashes out right away, but Peggy hesitates, hanging onto the doorframe. “Daniel - ”

“Be careful,” he tells her.

Peggy offers him a closed-mouth smile. “I love you, too.”

*

_Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,_  
_“Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;_  
_Your robes are green and purple — there's a crest upon your head;_  
_Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!”_

*

In the time it takes Peggy to say goodbye to Daniel, Dottie’s already downed one intruder and is dangling a second over the mezzanine railing. “How many?” she demands.

_“Nyet! Nyet!”_ the man cries. _“_ _Ya ne znayu! Oni ne - ”_

Dottie drops him. “Oops,” she says with a smile as he screams all the way down. “Oh, Peg, you might - ”

A pair of brutish arms close around Peggy. Before she can stomp on his foot, he’s wrestled her gun away. It fires on impact, catching her assailant in his leg. That’s her cue to elbow him in the solar plexus and toss him to the ground, but she’s not fast enough to stop her weapon skipping over the balcony edge. “Next time,” says Peggy, somehow connecting with another goon’s face on a wild swing, “warn me!”

_“Oooh,”_ says Dottie, tossing a few punches of her own, “there’s going to be a next time?”

Peggy’s too busy fending off the latest attacker to answer. She takes a fist to the jaw and has to spit out a mouthful of blood. She has to hand it to whoever’s training Leviathan operatives. They all seem to be erratic, unpredictable fighters. Just like Dottie.

_You can’t let her get away._

Down the mezzanine, Dottie’s faring somewhat better than Peggy. She flings another man over the railing, shooting him on his way down for good measure. Peggy manages to grab hold of the back of her aggressor’s shirt. She spins him around as hard as she can, slamming his head into a metal pipe. He crumples. Peggy scrambles to grab his gun.

Her grip is clumsy on the Russian revolver. The Nagant is slightly too big for her hands, with a notoriously heavy trigger. Still, Peggy’s eyes sweep the catwalk in search of someone to shoot.

But she finds only Dottie, the men Leviathan sent already indisposed. Her chest is heaving, her curls unruly. Still, she stares down the barrel of Peggy’s gun and smiles.

“Going to shoot me, Peggy?” Dottie taunts, hands curling into fists.

“You are under arrest, Dottie Underwood,” Peggy shouts. “You cannot kidnap - ” _the man I love,_ she thinks “ - an SSR bureau chief and expect to remain free.”

There’s a crash from down below.

A man shouts, _“_ _Vverkh! Vverkh!”_

Up, up.

Dottie continues to smile. “Oh, Peggy. You heard the general. Leviathan thinks all of the SSR is coming. You better drag your beau out now, before this warehouse is _crawling_ with spiders.”

“I’m still taking you in,” Peggy insists, though she can hear boots thundering up the stairs. She’ll never be able to manage Daniel and fight her way out.

“Tell you what,” Dottie offers. “I’ll clear a path.”

Peggy has a clear shot. It’s now or never.

She lowers the gun.

“Damn you,” Peggy mutters under her breath as she watches Dottie slip away again. The other woman dashes down the gangplank and disappears. Peggy reminds herself the more pressing concern is Daniel, slipping in and out of consciousness as she hacks at the ropes that bind him. He’s still bleeding. Her hands keep slipping. “You’re all right, my love,” she says shakily.

“Who’re you trying to convince?” Daniel’s voice startles her. She’d thought he passed out, but of course he’s flashing her a crooked smile. “’Cause I know I’m all right. I’ve got you, don’t I?”

As much as Peggy appreciates the vote of confidence, a grim task lies ahead. “Let’s get you out of here, then you can thank me. I’m going to pull your arm over my shoulder and help you stand, OK? On three. One, two - what is it?”

Daniel’s shaking his head. He grimaces. “Shoulder.”

That’s when Peggy notices how black and blue the skin is beneath his collar. She sighs. “Other side, then,” she says briskly. It’ll be even slower going if she has to brace him on the same side as his prosthesis. She grabs his right hand and pulls it over her shoulder. “We can do this,” she reminds him. “We’re a team.”

She’s helped more than her fair share of injured men off the battlefield, but she’s still unprepared for how he falls against her like a dead weight. Daniel has to scrabble to get his good foot under him.

“I don’t know, Peggy,” he says uncertainly.

“If Dottie Underwood managed to get you up here, then I most certainly can get you down,” she insists. “Lean on me.”

His prosthetic knee jabs painfully into her thigh as she drags him over one of the slain Leviathan agents. “Jesus, Peg,” Daniel whispers. “Are you - ”

“Save your strength,” she instructs because she doesn’t want to talk about it. She half-considers taking the stairs, but even if she could haul Daniel down, she doesn’t want to risk causing further injury. She catches a breather at the entrance to the freight elevator. “Ready?”

Peggy’s tense the entire ride down, afraid of what might be lurking at the bottom.

Turns out, only Jarvis. “Oh, Miss Carter, thank God. I was beginning to think - ” he breaks off to tug Daniel’s arm over his shoulder instead.

“I thought I told you to stay in the car,” Peggy admonishes.

“Yes, well,” says Jarvis, half-carrying, half-dragging Daniel toward the exit, “I’ll have you know I refrained from entering for some time. It was Dottie Underwood sprinting by the parked car and blowing me a kiss that made me think I might be needed.”

“She didn’t take the car, did she?” Peggy asks sharply.

“Oh no, Miss Carter. I peeled out when I saw her, just like you said. I watched Miss Underwood hop into one of the vans the Bolsheviks arrived in from my rearview mirror. By the time I’d driven around the block, she was gone.”

Jarvis has the car parked right on the curb. Daniel barely stirs as he’s stuffed into the backseat. Peggy pulls his head into her lap, carding her fingers through his thick hair. “You’re fine, darling. We’re taking you to the hospital.”

No answer.

Jarvis clears his throat. “Miss Carter - ”

“Now’s really not the time, Mr. Jarvis.”

Peggy closes her eyes. Not only is Daniel badly hurt, but she’s let Dottie Underwood get away.

Again.

*

Daniel wakes up in a bed that isn’t his, a heavy weight resting on his chest. He blinks as his eyes adjust to the too-bright room.

He’s in a hospital, he realizes.

He’s not alone.

Curled next to him in the narrow bed is Peggy, snoring lightly into his hospital gown, messy curls tickling his chin. Instinctively, he reaches for her, only to find his left arm completely immobilized. A cast wraps around his shoulder, under his armpit, all the way down to his elbow.

Daniel groans.

_“Finally,”_ says a familiar-but-unexpected voice. A second later, the curtain between the two beds has been pulled back, and while the effort has Jack looking a little pale, he’s also smiling smugly. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for one of you to wake up?” He doesn’t give Daniel a chance to answer. “I knew there was something going on between you and Marge. I _knew_ it.”

Daniel ignores Jack in favor of Peggy, who’s starting to stir. “Mmm,” she murmurs sleepily, not bothering to open her eyes. Then she kisses him like she does most mornings, which is to say sensuously, much to his surprise and Jack’s disgust.

As the other bureau chief makes retching noises, Daniel has to remind Peggy, “We have an audience.”

Her lips tickle his ear. “He can close his eyes,” she whispers.

“Peggy,” Daniel says uncomfortably. His shoulder might be fucked up beyond repair, but certain other parts seem to be working just fine. He needs her to stop before there’s a situation beneath the thin hospital blanket. “Were there no private rooms available?”

He’s asking her, but it’s Jack who answers, “If you two hadn’t left such a mess in the Wholesale District, there might have been enough SSR agents to guard two rooms, but _no._ They wheeled you in a little after midnight, told me I’d have to share until Dottie Underwood was apprehended. Imagine my surprise - ” Jack pulls a face “ - when Marge crawled into bed with you.”

Even Daniel has to agree it was awfully brazen of Peggy. Given how careful they’ve been to keep their relationship a secret, he finds himself bracing for bad news. “Peg,” he says quietly, “how bad is it? Tell me the truth.”

Jack, Dottie, the rest of the world - it all falls away when she bites her lip. “The doctor says you’ll need to remain in the cast for three to four weeks,” Peggy reluctantly informs Daniel, her fingers skimming the plaster through the hospital gown. She forces a smile. “But he thinks with physical therapy, you’ll make a full recovery.”

Daniel, unaware he’d even been holding his breath, lets out a shaky laugh. “That’s it?”

Peggy lifts her head from his chest. “Daniel, did you not just hear me? You’ll need to wear the cast for a month.” She rushes on, “But don’t worry, darling. I’ve already - ”

“Peggy,” Daniel interrupts, “a month’s nothing.” Hell, he’d been laid up for six when he lost his leg. His chuckle, though, turns to a gasp when he jostles his injured shoulder.

In the next bed, Jack’s about to have a conniption. _“Darling?”_ he says incredulously. “She doesn’t seriously call you ‘darling,’ does she?”

“Don’t pop a stitch, Jack,” Peggy says dismissively, slipping off the bed to fetch Daniel a glass of water. Remembering how Dottie had half-drowned him the day before, he takes it before Peggy can bring it to his lips. She smooths her skirt - Jarvis must have brought her a change of clothes - and sits back down on the edge of his bed.

“Dottie got away, didn’t she?” Daniel asks.

Jack whistles. “Oh, Underwood got away, all right,” he says. “In fact, Marge would’ve already been dismissed for her reckless behavior if I hadn’t intervened. Now I’ve got to host top brass ’round my sickbed for a disciplinary hearing.”

“Is that true?” Daniel wants to know, but one look at Peggy’s face tells him everything he needs to know. He reaches clumsily for her hand and squeezes it.

“ - not what I needed during my convalescence,” Jack’s saying. “I can’t do it anymore. I _won’t_ do it anymore. Have Rose draw up the paperwork, Danny boy. I’m making Marge your responsibility.”

So far Daniel’s avoided asking if Peggy plans to stay indefinitely. “Jack,” he starts, “that’s not your decision to make.” _Or mine._ If it were up to him, she’d already be assigned to his office. But it’s not up to him. “If Peggy wants to stay - ”

“Of course I want to stay,” Peggy interjects. Before Daniel’s heart can swell, though, she’s saying, “Who do you think will take care of you? Now, I’ve already spoken to Mr. Jarvis, who’s - ”

“Peggy.”

“ - taking care of everything,” she finishes.

Daniel shakes his head. “Peggy,” he says quietly, “I can’t ask Howard to put me up for a month.”

Peggy clucks her tongue. “And why not? Daniel, you’re going to need a lot of help.”

_Don’t I know it._ Trouble is, Daniel can practically hear Jarvis announcing, “Chief Sousa, I’ve run your bath. Shall I help you into the tub?” He reddens as he imagines it. Not that Daniel’s looking forward to burdening Peggy, either. He mumbles something about wanting to convalesce at his place.

Peggy sighs. “Why must you be so stubborn?” she asks. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to stay with you there.”

Daniel gives it a second, waits for her to spot the flaw in her plan. When she doesn’t, he licks his lips. “Peggy, what about the neighbors?”

“Which ones? Gladys and Mitchell would help, you’re right. But Daniel, do you really want to rely on the Dunbars when we’d be so much more comfortable at - ”

“Peggy, unless you want to get married, you can’t move in with me,” Daniel blurts. His ears light up when he realizes what he’s said. “I mean, a woman can’t share a house with a man who isn’t her husband. It’s just not done.”

Peggy makes a little “oof!” noise with her mouth before throwing her hands up in the air. Daniel expects her to tell him he’s crazy, but then again, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised when Peggy surprises him at this point.

“Fine! We’ll get married!”

She sounds exasperated.

Daniel just stares at her. “Peggy,” he pleads, “don’t joke, not about that.”

“Who said I was joking?” she counters.

He swallows, refusing to get his hopes up. “You don’t care what the neighbors think,” he points out.

“You do.”

“You don’t want to get married.”

“I don’t - ” Peggy frowns. “Who gave you that idea?”

“You did,” Daniel says miserably. “When Angie was telling you who from the Griffith had gotten married since you left New York, you said, ‘How silly.’”

“Daniel - ” her touch is light on his jaw “ - I’m afraid you misunderstood what I was saying. Angie had just finished telling me how worked up Evelyn from 3D had gotten about her wedding, which yes, I found silly. A marriage is so much more than flowers and whether the guests like vanilla buttercream.”

Daniel takes her left hand in his right, thumb swiping the underside of her ring finger. “So you do want to get married?”

“I don’t know, Chief Sousa.” Peggy bats her eyelashes. “Are you asking?”

“I - ” Daniel’s mouth is dry. He’s thought about it before, of course. He’d always assumed he’d do it properly, down on one knee, not with his shoulder in a cast a day after they’d each been willing to die for the other. Slowly, he nods.

By some miracle, so does Peggy. “OK,” she agrees. “We’ll get married.”

There’s barely time for a grin to spread on Daniel’s face before Jack makes a sound like a dying cat from the next bed. “If that’s what you idiots call a proposal,” he huffs, “then you deserve each other.”

*

Peggy’s grateful the nurse who clears the lunch trays isn’t Violet. She listens to Jack’s heart and takes Daniel’s temperature. “Still a little feverish,” she informs Peggy, “but it’s to be expected with all he’s been through.”

Daniel’s eyes are starting to droop even before Dr. Choi arrives and orders more pain meds. “You shouldn’t be here,” he tells Peggy as she smooths Daniel’s sheets.

The night before, he’d ignored all of Peggy’s questions and directed his answers at the SSR suits instead. “I’m his fiancée,” she snaps, ignoring Daniel’s silent plea to play nice. “I have every right to be here.”

“Chief Sousa needs rest,” Dr. Choi says firmly, and he’s gone.

Jack whistles under his breath.

“Something on your mind, Chief Thompson?” Peggy says waspishly.

Jack jerks his chin in Daniel’s direction. “Doc’s not wrong. Look at him, Marge. He can barely keep his eyes open.”

Peggy fusses with Daniel’s pillows. “He can sleep.” She hates the bulky outline of his cast beneath the hospital gown. _Be glad that’s all Dottie did._ She could have just as easily killed him. “I’ll be here when he wakes up.”

“No, no,” Daniel mumbles sleepily, rolling his head toward her hand, “’m awake.”

Her fingers stroke his cheek. “Sleep, my love.”

A few minutes later, his breathing levels out. Peggy’s about to take a seat when Jack says, “Go home, Marge.”

Peggy circles Daniel’s bed and crosses her arms at the foot of Jack’s. “Daniel needs me.”

“What Danny boy needs,” says Jack, casting a sidelong glance at the man slumbering a bed over, “is to sleep for about three days. Then he’ll need a girlfriend who’s not too exhausted to take care of him.”

“Fiancée,” Peggy corrects through gritted teeth. She waits for it, a crack about how without a ring it doesn’t count, maybe a joke about Daniel being able to get down on one knee.

But what Jack says is, “You know they’ll crucify you for this, don’t you?”

Peggy doesn’t have to ask to whom Jack’s referring. They’re right outside the door, top brass, old men in dark suits who don’t think twice about starting wars and sending men like Daniel and Jack to fight them. Instead, she answers his question with an accusation. “You knew,” she says. “When you sent me out here, you knew how he felt about me.”

Jack snorts. “Everybody knew, Carter.”

“Then you concede you were trying to sabotage him.”

Jack squirms under her gaze. “Oh, c’mon, Marge, it wasn’t like that, and you know it.” She arches her brow, daring the New York bureau chief to tell her what it _was_ like, then. “You were driving me crazy, OK? Every impossible case I threw at you, you solved in record time. I was going to have a mutiny on my hands if you managed to crack Underwood, too. So I figured I’d send you to LA, get you out of my hair for a while. Not my fault you chose to break every rule in the SSR handbook.”

Peggy plasters a fake smile on her face. “I’ll be sure to go by the book if it’s ever your life on the line, Chief Thompson,” she says sweetly.

She’s about to draw the curtain between the two beds when Jack says, “There are four more Leviathan operatives in SSR custody today than there were yesterday. You did good, Marge.”

Not sure if it’s a compliment or a trap, Peggy’s hand doesn’t leave the curtain. “Thank you, Chief.”

“You want to know why I went to bat for you?” Jack continues. He glances out the little window in the door. “You’re the only one I trust.”

Peggy sighs. “I haven’t forgotten why I’m here.” It’s almost compulsory at this point: she rests a hand on Daniel’s shoulder, the uninjured one. She’s not sure what possessed her to crawl into the narrow bed with him the night before, other than her immense relief that he was still breathing. “I’ll find your shooter, Jack.”

“Go home,” he tells her. “If Danny boy wakes up, I’ll let him know the future Mrs. Sousa will be back to bother us soon enough.” It’s almost like he can’t resist adding, “You look like hell, Marge.”

“Says the man who hasn’t left his bed in eight weeks,” she quips, kissing Daniel’s chapped lips. _Peggy Sousa._ Is she really ready to be someone’s wife? Yesterday, she reminds herself, she was ready to die for him, though fortunately it hadn’t come to that. “I’ll be back around teatime.”

“Don’t bother,” comes Jack’s lazy reply, “he’ll be out until at least supper.”

In the hallway, Rose intercepts Peggy before the men from the War Department can. “Don’t worry about a thing, Peg,” she promises. “I’ll be here if Chief Sousa needs anything. Now go, before one of them decides to hold you for interrogation.”

_“Oh,”_ says Peggy, and there’s not even time to share her and Daniel’s good news before she gets shoved bodily around a corner. She can hear men’s voices, followed by Rose’s fake laugh.

“Agent Carter? You _just_ missed her ... ”

Peggy keeps walking, right into one of the nurses.

“Oh my gosh!” Peggy gushes in the American accent Daniel insists sounds fake. “I didn’t even see you. Look at the mess I’ve made.” She crouches to help the poor woman collect the scattered files as the two men from the War Department stride past. “Here you - ”

But the nurse seems to have vanished into thin air. Peggy frowns. That’s when she notices she’s still holding a folder with Jack Thompson’s name on it. Coincidence?

_Not bloody likely._

Peggy opens the file. Instead of a chart for a 31-year-old man recovering from a gunshot wound to the chest, she’s looking at some sort of a contract. Bank statements. Receipts.

The paper trail for the hit on Jack.

And it leads right back to the SSR.

_“Do you have any idea how deep the rot goes in the SSR? Your idealism blinds you, Peggy. And it will kill us all.”_

Peggy pales. “Dottie,” she whispers.

*

_Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,_  
_Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;_  
_With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,_  
_Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue —_  
_Thinking only of her crested head — poor foolish thing!_  
_At last,_  
_Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast._  
_He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,_  
_Within his little parlour — but she ne'er came out again!_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to the usual suspects, [lazaefair](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lazaefair) and [frommybookbook](http://frommybookbook.tumblr.com), as well as all the new friends I've been making in the Agent Carter fandom.


End file.
